Nothing Lasts Forever
by shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod
Summary: Just like everything before and after them, the Avengers came to an end. For some, the cause was time. Others was illness. Three went out in the battle. But eventually, the Earth was without its mightiest heroes. Series of one-shots about the death of each of the Avengers, their funerals, and how the rest of the team deals with its diminishing numbers. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**New story! Note, this is not a happy one. I know many other people have written these kinds of one shots, but I wanted to try my hand at it. Some will be shorter, some longer, it all depends on who they are about. Six chapters in all, one for each Avenger. Yes, some of these did hurt me to write. Sorry for any OOCness in advance.**

 **I did change some stuff from the movies/comics to take note of:**

 **Civil War never happens. Bruce returns shortly after the battle with Ultron and lives in the Tower with them. Steve and Natasha never have James Rogers. Bucky died on the train and never became the Winter Soldier. In this story, Peggy is also already dead.**

 **All of that being said, I hope that you guys like it! I tried my best, and hopefully it will pay off! Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!**

 **Shoutout to DreamEscape1675 for the cover photo!**

 **I don't own Marvel or any of the characters.**

* * *

Just like everything before and after them, the Avengers came to an end. For some, the cause was time. Others was illness. Only one went out in the battle. But eventually, the Earth was without their mightiest heroes. And the day that happened, the better half of the world was sent into mourning.

* * *

Five years after the Ultron invasion, the effects of Tony's drinking finally started to set in. His skin became more yellow, his eyes grew sunken, and he lost the snarky attitude that had annoyed the team for all those years. During one of their weekly movie nights, his liver gave out, along with his left lung. The movie was turned off with worried gasps and panic as Tony slid off the couch, eyes closed and unresponsive. With Bruce across the country dealing with other "sciency mumbo jumbo", as Tony liked to call it, the team was left helpless and calling for an ambulance. Twenty-two hours and three surgeries later, Tony was on life support with a breathing machine pushing air in and out of his failing lungs.

Bruce was flown in from the west coast, only to end up with the rest of the team, sitting in cold chairs next to Tony's bed. After being informed that Tony may never wake up, and if he did, many problems would continue, Bruce was handed the form to take him off life support. There was absolutely nothing the doctors could do, and it was better to end his suffering before it got any worse. With shaking fingers, he signed his name and passed the clipboard to Pepper. Her tears blurred the usually sleek signature.

The paper was passed around to all of the members of the team; a final goodbye. A doctor then took the paper and left the room silently, leaving the Avengers to themselves and time to part with their friend.

In hushed whispers to their comrade, they each said goodbye.

"You were a strong warrior. It was an honor to fight beside you and the team will not be the same. Your bad jokes will be missed, Lord Stark." Thor placed a gentle hand on Tony's shoulder for a second before leaving the room.

For Pepper, it was a final 'I love you'. Natasha bade the inventor good luck and helped Pepper out of the room.

"The lab won't be the same without you, Tony," Bruce whispered, wiping a tear from his eye. "I'll keep working on the armor, same as always. It can always get better. But without a man inside it, I don't know how well I can do. I will try, for you, buddy."

Clint told Tony something about being a dumb-ass and not telling them about his illness before apologizing and saying how he would miss the snarky pain in his side.

Then it was just Steve and Tony in the room, the silence interrupted by the beeping heart monitor and the harsh intake and exhale of forced breaths. "I know we never got along real well. Too different, I suppose," Steve started, smiling slightly to himself. "But we normally worked okay together. Sure, your attitude was a pain sometimes, and not following orders was something that you excelled at, but you never ceased to make me at least smile. And that I will truly miss. I'm sorry I never told you this under different circumstances, but I couldn't find the right words I guess."

"I know part of the reason why you hated me was because of your father and our relationship. He would still be alive today, or at least would have had more time with you, if I had not let Bucky go. And believe me, whenever you brought it up, I kicked myself for it. Boy, did I kick myself. But you'll be with him soon and you guys can talk all day long about how 'perfect' I am or something." Steve took a deep breath in and sighed, looking at Tony's still form in the bed. "The team won't be the same, Tony. But I'll try to keep them together. God speed, my friend."

With that, Steve stood up and walked out the door, head hung low, right into the arms of his comrades on the other side. A minute later, they watched through the glass as the doctor came into the room, jotted down some notes, and looked back to the team. With a solemn look, he turned to Tony and flipped a few switches. Gradually, the monitors started going off and the rising and falling of his chest ceased.

Three days later, Tony Stark was buried in a private cemetery along with the faceplate to one of his suits.

The team returned to the Tower late at night and split up, except for Steve and Natasha. Tony's death bothered both of them more than they liked to admit, and they spent the night picking up fond memories and laughing at some of the best ones.

Pepper walked down into the lab that she so seldom visited, except to tell Tony to get in bed. She half expected sparks to be flying, or him to yell 'watch out!' at the top of his lungs, or cursing at an invention that refused to work. For the first time since she met him, the lab was completely silent. She made her way around to the various unfinished projects, including an upgraded TV and plans for more Avengers floors should Sam and Wanda ever need to stay for a night. An automatic coffee delivering robot and plans for new outfits for the team also lay scattered on the table.

She brought a hand up to her mouth and let out a choked cry when her eyes landed on the last project. The plans were for a silver ring, with a light red stone and a diamond set into it. A box sat on the table next to the plans, open to the world. The word 'Pepper' was inscribed inside the box.

A strangled sound came out of her mouth as the realization dawned and then began drowning her. FRIDAY alerted Bruce, who was only a floor away, and he was by her side seconds later. She sat on the floor, staring at the unfinished ring, sobs escaping her mouth. Bruce sat down next to her and let her wrap her arms around him, tears wetting the soft material of the black suit.

He knew what Tony had been planning. And it killed him on the inside that Tony's greatest accomplishment would never happen.


	2. The Avengers Graveyard

**Sorry, this chapter is a lot shorter than the previous one. Personally, I do not think that it is too good, but I tried. I don't write about Bruce too often, so please forgive me. I also don't know much about his serum and if this is actually possible, but I did my best to make it seem at least plausible. Big thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited! It means a lot! :) I am thinking about doing review replies in the next chapter, but it just depends on how many there are. All of that said, I hope that you guys like this chapter! The next one should be posted tomorrow or Wednesday day and will be longer for sure.**

 **I forgot to mention in the previous A/N, that the songs I listened to for these one shots were: "Saturn" by Sleeping at Last & "Pieces" by Rob Thomas.**

 **I don't own anything Marvel related.**

* * *

 **Year 2021**

It came as a surprise, less than a year later, when Bruce unexpectedly slipped from their grasp. A few weeks after the soldier and the spy tied the knot in a ceremony of red and white, they got a call at the Tower from Maria Hill. Clint was the only one on the communal floor, so he picked up the phone with a confused "hello?"

She told him in a soft, grieving tone, that Bruce had died unexpectedly in his sleep the night before while in California, enjoying some time off from saving the world. Apparently his older body could not handle the serum like it used to, and his last Hulking out that had lasted nearly four hours had pushed it over the edge. His heart stopped. No pain. He simply drifted away from all of them.

The cleaning lady had found him when she entered his hotel room, seeing no 'do not disturb' on the door. When she apologized and wheeled the cart out, he did not move. It was only after walking a few steps into the room and not seeing Bruce breathing that she called for help.

An ambulance came, and prior to Fury's orders, Bruce was delivered to a small hospital run by people he trusted. All efforts to resuscitate Bruce both in the ambulance and at the hospital had failed. The cause of death was heart failure. Nothing more, nothing less.

Hill had called Pepper first, who was in Florida with family, where she decided that she would remain. It hurt her too much to come back and live in a house, in a city, that was practically made by the man she lost.

Maria apologized again, informing Clint of when Bruce's funeral would take place, sending Fury's condolences as well. She knew how hard these loses were for the team. It was becoming more and more evident that the Avengers were people also, and their time would come to an end.

Clint hung up and phone and ran a hand through his hair. "FRIDAY, gather the team."

"Yes, Clint," the AI replied. After Tony's death, FRIDAY had grown quieter and began calling everyone by their first names, as they had asked.

In a minute, what was left of the Avengers team had assembled on the floor that used to hold so much light and laughter. Natasha stepped forward first, seeing the red in Clint's eyes brought on by the tears. "Clint, who was on the phone?"

He took a shaky breath in before relaying the information. Thor's head hung low again, blonde hair falling in front of his face. Steve began massaging Natasha's shoulders as her face set straight. Clint looked down at the floor as Natasha turned to Steve for a hug, which he enveloped her in. The entire team was silent, either closing their eyes in disbelief or looking at the floor. Anything so that they wouldn't have to look at their other broken teammates around them.

* * *

Two days later, so that no one would get any of Bruce's blood, his body was cremated. The ashes were placed into a jar, which they all signed, and was buried next to Tony.

"I hate this place," Clint whispered as what was left of Bruce was covered. "They should call it the Avengers graveyard. Hell, someday we'll all be here." He was the first one back to the Tower and didn't speak to anyone for the next few days.

The science lab was quiet and dark, with no one to use it. Projects and specks lay out on the tables, holograms still flashing from what Bruce had been working on just weeks prior.

Steve became the new medic of the team, learning very quickly how to patch up various wounds and set bones. Still, they all felt odd going to Steve for help in the medical wing. He wasn't as good as Bruce had been, but no one said a thing.

With the loss of both Iron Man and the Hulk in under a year, the press began hounding the superheroes. Conspiracy theories and rumors that the deaths were connected started floating around. Fury finally had to address the press with the medical records stating that both Tony and Bruce had died of natural causes, completely unrelated. That did not diminish the reporters' thirst for what they thought was the correct story. That the hospitals and reports were false and the heroes had somehow died in a battle against an enemy and did not want their deaths to be reported as a failed attack. However, the need for more information began to diminish when the Avengers themselves stood up for what Fury had said.

A few threats from Natasha to anyone that didn't believe their story was enough to finally put the rumors to rest and allow the Avengers to continue with their lives. Missions were completed, often with the added help of Sam, Wanda, and the Vision, and then the core Avengers would go back to the Tower. Every week they still had movie night, but they didn't laugh as much as they used to. It was if a blanket of sadness had settled over the team.

One-third of the team was not buried in the earth. There was one question that was on everyone's minds, but no one dared to ask or think about too much: which one of them was next?


	3. What do I Tell the Kids?

**Much longer chapter this time! This one so far has hurt the absolute worst. So sorry in advance for all of the feels!**

 **Quick thank-you to Sportsfan64, Zoeff, Lolli-x, and wolflehr for reviewing; and to everyone else that has read this story. It means a lot! Next chapter probably won't be posted tomorrow (a lot of school stuff) so expect it probably on Thursday.**

 **I don't own anything Marvel, which you guys should hopefully know by now.**

* * *

 **Yea** **r** **2022**

In the two years following, the sting of the losses gradually lessened, but never left. With the added help of the newer Avengers, Thor took Jane to Asgard, where they were married and began living their lives together. Sam, Wanda, and Vision moved into the floors in the Tower so that when missions were called, they could easily respond.

Clint only came to the missions that he absolutely had to. The rest of his time was spent with Laura and his three kids.

"That freaking mission in Canada. Why do all of the missions I get called on always have to be in the snow?" Clint said, talking to Natasha one night over the phone. "I swear, right as I get rid of a cold another one comes back. But they always settle in my lungs. They feel worse every time."

"Stop your whining," Natasha replied, smirking a little.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Capscicle didn't get that nickname for spending time in the sun."

"I heard that!" Steve yelled from the kitchen.

"Tasha, am I on speaker phone? And hi Steve!"

Natasha laughed as Steve waved to the phone, a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder as he washed the bowls that they had used for dinner. "You may be on speaker phone…" Natasha dragged out. "Steve waves back to you also."

Clint chuckled from the other end of the line before a fit of coughing came over him. "See what I mean?" he choked out between coughs. Natasha laughed a little, at his exaggeration. "Don't laugh at me! My lungs do that enough!" That only caused her to laugh harder. After a pause, he said, "alright, gotta go help the kiddos with homework. Steve, you be good to her!"

"Yes sir!" Steve yelled from the kitchen, raising his hand in a mock salute.

"Did he salute me? He saluted, didn't he? Alright, Tash. I'll call you later in the week."

"Let me know how Lila's presentation goes! Kiss Laura and the kids for me." With that, the two assassins hung up.

* * *

At 2:12 in the morning, Natasha's phone buzzing woke her from her light slumber. Steve sighed and rolled over as she sleepily grabbed it from the nightstand and brought it onto the bed. The caller ID read Laura. Why would Laura be calling at two in the morning?

"Laura?" Natasha asked, suddenly more awake as she sat up and ran a hand through her hair. She felt the bed shift under her as Steve sat up next to her.

"It's Clint. He-he," Laura started, choking on cries as she did.

"Laura, what happened?" Natasha's tone was stern and worried.

"He was helping the kids and started coughing and-and he said he was okay. Then later tonight it-it started again, but when he pulled his hand away, it was red. I called for an ambulance and we're on the way to the hospital," she finished.

"Which one?" Natasha asked, sliding out of the bed and grabbing a sweater from the closet. With one hand, she began pulling on shoes. Laura told her the hospital name and Natasha hung up, dropping the phone by her side. Her chest was tight with worry as she ran a quick brush through her hair.

"Natasha, what's wrong?" Steve questioned, his blue eyes scanning over her shaking frame in the darkness.

"Clint. Something-something's wrong and he's headed to the hospital and-" she cut off to stifle a worried sob. "Nothing can happen to him. He's too important. He-" Natasha drifted off.

Steve got out of the bed and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. "I'll get clothes on. We take a Quinjet. We see him. Nat, he's Clint. He'll be alright." She nodded into his shoulder before he pulled away.

In twenty minutes, a Quinjet flew out of the Avengers Tower, bound for a small town in the middle of the rural United States.

* * *

Steve and Natasha pushed open the doors to the small hospital, asking for Clint Barton. "He's undergoing testing at the moment," was the reply. "His wife, a Mrs. Laura Barton is in room 57, to your left."

Steve mumbled a thanks for both of them as Natasha barreled down the small corridors, walking right into a room labeled with the number 57. Laura was sitting in a chair by the empty bed, talking to someone on the phone. As soon as she saw the Avengers walk in, she ended the phone call and looked to them with red eyes.

"My parents are taking the kids for now. Clint's in for testing," she whispered as Natasha came to give her a hug. Steve followed and soon they were all sitting next to an empty bed.

"What's wrong with him?" Natasha asked. "He was fine when I talked to him earlier tonight."

"They don't know," she whispered in response, shaking her head back and forth. They sat there in silence for another hour, minds occupied only with thoughts of their friend.

After waiting for slightly over an hour, Clint's doctor came in. "You're Mrs. Barton, I presume? And these are?"

"Friends," Natasha replied. "How's Clint? Did you find out what's wrong with him?"

The doctor scanned over the three people standing in the room and sighed. Opening the folder that he held in his hands, he removed two sheets of X-rays. He then slid them into the viewing window and turned on the light. Steve, Natasha, and Laura came closer.

"This," he started, pointing to the photo on the left, "was taken eight months ago when he was admitted for fractures in three ribs. They have healed now, but there is a much bigger problem." He then pointed to the photo on the right. Clint's lungs and ribs were clouded in white. "We couldn't see it at first, so we had him go into an MRI. In order to get clear images, he had to be sedated."

In any other situation, Natasha would have smiled at the thought of Clint trying to escape the horrid hospitals. But her lips were pursed together as she stared at the foggy white mist that surrounded Clint's lungs.

"No," Laura whispered. "Please tell me that isn't what I think it is."

The doctor lowered his head for a moment. "I'm afraid it is. Lung cancer. Stage four."

Laura brought a hand up to her mouth as tears began to well in her eyes. Natasha was staring intently at the image, wondering how she could make them change, how she could wake up from this horrible nightmare. But there was no way.

"How did it come on so fast?" Steve asked, breaking the silence.

"Lung cancer is extremely tricky to catch early, and if left untreated, it grows rapidly. That is most likely what we are seeing here."

Laura took a shaky breath in. "But you can do something about it, right? Chemo, something?" Her voice was high and worried.

"This late in the disease, there is very little that we can do. His only option for treatment would be a double lung transplant, which has a low survival rate to begin with. And due to his age, it would not be a viable option."

"So what? We just sit back and watch him…deteriorate?" Natasha snapped.

"Nat," Steve whispered, trying to catch her arm, but she slid out the door and walked down the hall, leaving Steve and Laura to stare at the images.

"There has to be something," Laura tried again.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Barton, I truly am," the doctor replied.

"What do I tell the kids?" she whispered, mainly to herself, as the doctor walked out the door. "What do I tell the kids?" she asked again, looking to Steve with utter pain in her eyes. He found that he didn't have an answer.

* * *

A second round of testing and scans yielded even worse results. A separate tumor in his knee, small, but still there. Most of his body was spotted with white specks. Laura leaned on Natasha, who leaned on Steve, who leaned on the wall.

Eventually, Clint was wheeled into the room. Unconscious from the drugs, with a breathing mask affixed to his face, he lay amongst the white sheets. Wires came from all over his body, affixed to medicine drips and a heart monitor. They sat with him all through the day and well into the next night. After almost an entire day of being under, Clint's eyes fluttered open and his heart rate increased.

Steve and Natasha slipped out the door, giving Clint and Laura some time to themselves. They wandered the bright white halls in silence, Steve's arm wrapped around Natasha's shoulder the entire time. The eventually found themselves outside on a bench overlooking the small hospital garden, her head resting on his shoulder. They came back a few hours later to find that Laura had gone to her parents house to tell them the news. This time, Natasha sat by Clint while Steve stood outside.

"Hey, Tasha," he whispered through the plastic mask, his breath making little white puffs on it. "This sucks, doesn't it?"

"Damn right it does," she replied.

"Eh, I'll be alright. Just…just cancer, that's all," Clint said, throat closing up around him. "Ya know, I always thought I'd bite it from a mission. Go out, arrows blazing, like in all the movies. Nope. Some mutated cells get to determine my fate."

"You're not going to die, Clint. They'll get some kind of treatment, you'll get better, and then you'll go back to your kids and teach them how to shoot a bow."

"Laura hates that," was his response.

"All the more reason for you to do it," Natasha said, her hand squeezing his own. He smiled under the mask, his eyes only half open. His light pulse drummed beneath her fingers, a constant reminder that he was here, he was still with them. And as long as Clint was alive, he would fight.

And fight he did. He didn't leave the hospital, however. Even though his condition worsened every day, he still kept a smile on his face that promised that he would beat the disease. It wasn't until Natasha saw his kids in the room that she realized that the fight was over.

"Now, don't give me none of that sappy 'you'll be missed' crap," he said to her late one night. Another one of the countless days that she had spent by his side, Steve by hers. "Don't feel guilty; you can't blame yourself. Just…look after Cooper, Lila, and Nate, will you?"

Natasha nodded, her hand squeezing his once again. "Of course, partner."

"This isn't the end. You'll see me again. Then maybe I can actually teach you how to shoot a bow halfway decently."

She gave him a light slap on the back of his hand. "I did save your life with one, mister archer extraordinary." They both laughed slightly and began recounting old memories; good and bad; from both missions and life itself. They both avoided the topic of Budapest. Natasha left the room with a sad smile on her face and held the door open for Steve, who took the still warm chair next to Clint's bed.

"Hey, Cap," Clint started.

"Hey yourself," was his reply. Even though Clint's face was pale and his frame was thin, his eyes still held a bright laughter. "You be good to her, alright? I'll still be able to hurt you, ya know."

"Don't talk like that, Clint-" Steve started, but the archer cut him off.

"I'm the one dying here, I'll talk however the hell I want!" he exclaimed, a smile crossing his features. "Natasha'll need some help. And I know no better guy to give it to her. Check in on the kids every once and a while, tell them how much I loved them." Tears welled in his eyes. "And man, I know I said I hated that cemetery, but I'd be alright going there. Tony and I could annoy Bruce forever."

"I'm sure he'll love that," Steve replied.

"See? You did learn something from me! Sarcasm!"

Steve chuckled a little and looked back at the archer. "Take care of yourself, Steve. Protect the world, protect our team. Just do everything you have been doing."

"Will do, Clint. Will do."

* * *

Two weeks later, Clint Barton was buried next to his comrades in the place that he had dubbed "The Avenger's Final Resting Place". Thor came for the funeral and stayed a few days to offer support, but eventually went back to Asgard. Natasha helped out at the Barton home for nearly a month, losing herself in the housework and making the kid's lunches and helping them with their schoolwork.

It was what Clint would have done for her. If anything could help her feel closer to him and not like he was lost, then she would do it. Seeing him in his three children every day helped, but she still returned to the Tower a fractured woman.

As always, Steve and the rest of the team were there to offer their support.

However, the team had lost half its members in a few short years. They were never the same after the loss of the sarcastic archer.

"We didn't pretend to need him. We actually did. We still do," Natasha whispered to Steve one night, echoing what she had said to Tony, Clint, and Bruce all those years ago in the lab. Everyone that had heard her say that was now dead. She snuggled closer to Steve, losing herself in the memories of her best friend.


	4. Always and Forever

**This chapter takes place about 7-8 months after Clint's death. Longest chapter yet, and I apologize for any OOCness that may arise. This one hurt more than Clint's chapter to write. But once I say I will finish a story, I try to, even though killing off half of my OTP this way was painful. Having a little trouble with Thor's chapter though, so it may be a day late fyi. So a Sunday update is looking to be the most plausible. Thanks for all of the support! At the end of the chapter I will be handing out complementary tissues for anyone that wants them. It is the best thing ever to hear that even though I am making you guys feel sad, at least I am making you feel something. Better than saying it would be sad and then failing I guess. Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope that you guys like it!**

 **I don't own Marvel. Seriously. If I did, how could I kill off all of these amazingly amazing characters without millions of people getting angry?**

* * *

After Clint was lost, the nightmares came for Natasha again. She had so long kept them at bay, and being in the same room with Steve helped. But the night after Clint had been buried in the ground, she woke up screaming and slashing the air with a knife for the first time in months. It only got worse from there. Over the course of six months, they got worse and worse, eating up more of what little sleep she managed to get. The nightmares progressed to every single night, and would even play in her mind during the day. Steve helped with soothing words, but Clint had been her rock for decades. It wasn't the same.

They still went on missions, however. The new Avengers team stuck together in order to keep the world safe, as their fallen comrades would have wanted. However, the fatigue had been getting to Natasha more than she liked to admit.

A sense of weight settled over her bones as she completed mission after mission, lived day after day, the bags under her eyes growing darker and darker. Steve didn't bring it up, as it would cause her to retreat further within herself. Natasha was often found playing with the simple silver wedding band on her finger, as if it kept her anchored to the ground, to life itself.

One night, after a movie, she fell asleep on top of Steve, both of them on the couch. Not having the heart to move her, Steve turned off the television and closed his eyes, his wife's steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep. They slept arm in arm, wrapped up in each other. For the first time in almost two months, Natasha slept soundly through the night.

* * *

The next day they were called into another mission. A group of heavily armed rebels had pinned down a convoy delivering medical aid, ammunitions, and food to an operating base in Northern Washington. The first part, which was getting the rebels away from the convoy, was easy enough. They were lured into the snowy forest, allowing for the vehicles to make their escapes to the base. Wanda, Sam, Steve, and Natasha stalked through the trees, taking out the rebels whenever they showed up.

What they hadn't planned for was the rebels to have set up a trap. All of a sudden, heavy boots began echoing through the trees as reinforcement troops came in. "It's a trap!" Steve yelled over the comms.

"Roger, got incoming from all sides. At least a hundred new rebels," Sam relayed as he dropped down from the sky through a hole in the foliage, wings folding back into his pack. Wanda followed, Natasha at her heels. In a minute, they were all back to back, staring down the enemy.

"The Avengers. How big you are in the world, but how small and insignificant you are now," one of the rebels sneered, taking out his gun and aiming it at Steve. "End of the line for you _heroes_. Time for you to join your fallen comrades," he spat.

"Everyone, take the section in front of you," Steve whispered. All of their eyes were dead set and matched to those of their targets.

Natasha's gun was the first to go off, hitting the talking rebel in the chest and sending him flying backwards. From that moment on, chaos ensued.

Sam was grounded due to the trees and the snow in their area, but pulled out his guns and began firing at the rebels, who responded with their own weapons. The sounds of gunfire rang through the once silent forest. Bolts of red magic flew and struck various rebels, sending them into trees or into the air. Wanda's eyes glowed red as her fingers produced crimson balls and sent them flying into the enemy's ranks.

Natasha leapt from person to person, either firing off her pistol or sliding between men on the slick ground before swiping their legs out from under them. Her widow bites crackled with energy as they met her targets and she moved onto the next ones, dodging guns and bullets as she went.

Gradually, the team began to tire. But the rebels' numbers were diminishing faster. Steve's shield let out metallic clangs as he threw it between men, bouncing it off of them before catching at and blocking gunfire. The snow and wind began to pick up, diminishing their view of each other as the fight continued. He blocked out the cold and focused on the mission at hand. He was not on the valkyrie, he was safe. Instead, he searched for forest for his wife. Natasha's red curls were bouncing off to his right, and occasionally a flash of blue would come out of the snow.

Gunfire from Sam was to his left, as the white landscape seemed to be set on fire from Wanda's magic behind him. He crept forward, leaping in front of another rebel and bringing his shield up to the man's face. He fell down in a crumpled heap onto the snow. Steve surveyed his area and the dying sounds of gunfire lighting up the white blizzard that had set over the team.

In the snow and the wind, they had all lost sight of each other. Visibility was down to about five feet.

"Clear North," he said over the comms.

"South and West secure," Sam and Wanda said at the same time as they checked over their areas. The pangs of bullets had ceased, leaving only the sound of wind in the trees.

"Natasha, is the East secure?" Steve asked. There was only static on the line. "Natasha?" A ball of worry formed in his throat as he left his position, running to his right as fast as his feet would carry him. "Nat?" his tone was more urgent now as the snow came down harder, obscuring his view even more. "Sam, Wanda, keep an eye out for stragglers. I'm going to find Natasha."

His boots crunched in the fresh snow as he dodged trees, running through them to where Natasha would have, should have been. Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, which made white clouds in front of his face, he looked around. Trees, snow, bodies of rebels. Nothing out of the ordinary. He took a few steps forward and his foot hit something metal. Steve picked up the object, intaking an icy breath as he brought it closer to his face.

It was one of Natasha's electric batons, as Tony used to call them. She never let them off her holster or out of her hand. His heart began pounding faster in worry. "Natasha!" he screamed. He was met only with the sound of wind and snow rustling through the trees. He thought back to how tired she had looked on the Quinjet to the drop off location, shrugging it off like it was nothing. But they both knew that her reflexes were dulled when she was extremely tired. Getting two hours of sleep maximum a night would do that to a person.

In the snow to his left, something red caught his eye. A bright red streak in the snow, leading off to what appeared to be a small rock outcropping. Following his instincts, Steve let the trail of blood lead him a few feet. In the snow, a small, silver earpiece glinted back at him.

"Natasha," he whispered. His feet moved forward faster, carrying him to where the rocks were. The snow was lighter there, and the wind was not as fierce. Taking a second to brush snow out of his eyes and follow the trail, he found that it abruptly stopped where a figure lay huddled against the gray rocks.

"Oh God, Nat," he murmured, running forward and collapsing next to her shivering form in the snow.

"T-took you long enough, Steve," she whispered, voice shaking from the cold. Snow clung to her red hair and her hands were pressed to her stomach. Blood leaked between her fingers.

"Sam, Wanda, I found her."

"We can't get to you in this weather. Sorry, Cap. We're headed back to the Quinjet to get a reading on your tracker and then we'll come as quick as we can," Sam replied.

Steve shook his head and sighed. It wouldn't be fast enough. He moved himself so that he was sitting next to Natasha, feet stretched out in front of him. He could already tell that picking her up and carrying her to the Quinjet himself would only end her life sooner. With careful hands, he removed Natasha's from her wound. Three angry, bleeding holes stared back at him as Natasha hissed, her face turning a pale shade of gray. He ripped off the sleeve of his uniform without a second thought and balled it up, putting it on her wound. Almost instantly, the fabric began to turn crimson.

Thinking quickly, he grabbed a handful of snow and packed it tight. "This is gonna hurt," he said. Natasha nodded and Steve pressed the snow to her wound. She let out a small cry as he then put his hand over the snow, keeping it in place. "You're okay, you're okay," was what he murmured.

Natasha shook her head in response, tears streaking down her face. There was pain written all over as she took shaky, shallow breaths in and out. "I love you, Steve."

"Don't talk like that, Natasha. Don't you dare. You aren't dying on me. I won't allow it," he said forcefully, bringing her closer to him in order to try and warm her up.

The hand that was not on her wound went around her shoulders and her head was brought into the crook of his neck. He refused to look at the ground, where the snow was more red than white. The snow in his hand was doing little to stop the bleeding, so he simply let it fall away, ripping off the other sleeve of his uniform to put over the blood soaked-one. He cursed himself for not bringing bandages.

"Cap, we have a lock on your location. Jet can't fly in this weather, and you're almost half a mile out. ETA is ten minutes for us to get there. Hang tight," Sam said over the comms, relaying the information that Wanda had provided him.

"Just hurry, Sam." Natasha had begun to shake both from blood loss and from the frigid air. He wrapped his arms around her tighter, rubbing her arms with his hand to create friction and warm her up.

Amid the silence, Steve could hear the quiet sounds of bootprints around the rocks. Natasha heard it too, and passed him one of her guns. The action made her grit her teeth, but the weapon was passed seamlessly from one bloodstained hand to another. In a swift motion, Steve shot up from behind the outcropping and buried a bullet in the rebel's head. He went down and Steve crouched back next to Natasha.

"Got him?" she asked, voice shaking.

"Yeah, thanks," was his reply as he got back into position next to her.

"Looks like that training was good for something."

"I could shoot fine in the days before you knew me, Nat," Steve replied, smirking a little.

"Fine. Then you met me and you began to shoot well," Natasha fired back. She shifted slightly to get her leg out from under her and ground her teeth in pain. The wounds reopened and the fabric got a fresh wave of red. "Shit," she whispered under her breath, which had become ragged and choked. Her head leaned against Steve's shoulder as his hand squeezed hers for support.

He had never felt so helpless. Natasha was bleeding out and freezing beside him, and there was nothing he could do. "You-take care of them, alright," she whispered against the thin fabric of his suit.

"No, no Natasha. They pick us up, you heal, we go back to the Tower and train them as always."

She shook her head again, rolling it side to side against him. A few more gunshots disturbed the silence, before it returned and there were no more signs of struggle. Chances were that Wanda and Sam were getting close and had encountered a rebel.

"Don't do anything stupid. I won't be here to do anything to stop you next time."

Steve could see it in her green eyes that she had all but given up. Sharp flashes of pain were so evident in them and her pale face stood against the bright red of her hair. "I'll try," was his quiet reply.

"Clint and I can help keep you safe. But I can't cover your ass forever, Rogers."

"Natasha, please stay. Just a few more minutes." Her heartbeat fluttered weakly against his shoulder as her breathing steadied and her eyes closed.

"I love you. So much, Steve. Don't you ever forget that."

Tears clouded his eyes as his fingers lifted her chin and he bent down to press a soft kiss to her lips. "And I love you, Natasha. Always and forever."

"I'll wait for you," she murmured. He held her closer, sheltering her from the storm outside, feeling her heartbeat thrum beneath his fingertips, the warm blood seeping out of her wounds.

In under a minute, the pulsing of her heartbeat stopped and she slumped like a rag doll against him, her hand still tightly clutching his.

"Natasha," he said, shaking her slightly. "Natasha." She did not stir, as he knew she wouldn't. His trembling hand moved to stroke her hair as tears made streaks down his face. "Please, God, no. Don't take her from me," Steve whispered. Sobs escaped his mouth as he clutched her limp body closer, taking it completely into his arms. His hand moved from her wound to moving hair away from her face, creating a blood red streak as he did so. "Please."

"Steve!" yelling came from a few hundred feet in front of him. Steve tried to shout back, but found that his throat was closed up with tears.

"I see him!" Wanda's voice pierced the air. In a few seconds, they both appeared through the snow, eyes worried.

"My gosh, Steve," Sam said, coming in front of him. He could tell just by looking at his friend what had happened. The redness in his eyes, the way he clutched her as if he would never let go. "Damn it, man. If we had only been a minute sooner." He ran a hand through his short hair. Wanda was holding a medical kit and set it down on one of the rocks, as it was of no use now.

She came to sit by Steve, who was struggling to hold himself together, still brushing Natasha's hair with his fingers.

"I am so sorry, Steve," she said in her sweet accent. He nodded in reply, lip trembling as his shoulders shook from held back sobs. Wanda sat on one side of him while Sam took the other. Together they watched and tried to support the soldier as he fell apart, the bloody body of the assassin wrapped in his arms.

It was Steve that carried her broken body back to the Quinjet and lay her down on the medical table. It was Wanda that put a blanket over his shoulders and handed him a warm mug of tea from the small beverage maker. It was Sam that offered kind words and piloted the jet back to the Tower. It was Natasha that lay motionless on the table.

* * *

Once they got back to the Tower, Fury was waiting with a truck to take Natasha to be cremated. Like Banner, the serum was too important to risk anyone getting their hands on it. He looked to his best agent with sorrow in his eyes, taking Wanda and Sam inside to debrief the mission and leave Steve alone with his thoughts.

He sat down on the Quinjet in a chair next to the table, taking her frigid hand in his. The blood had long since dried on her side and on his hand. Her wedding ring was smeared with the crimson substance. Steve pushed hair away from her face, vision becoming foggy once more.

He opened his mouth to speak, only to find that he had no words. Everything he could have told her, she already knew. He could just imagine her watching him, annoyed that he was repeating everything over and over. Just the simple thought of her sitting on one of the bunks in the jet, legs dangling over the side, watching as he made his peace with her corpse, tore him apart on the inside. So instead of talking on and on about how much he would miss her and how much she meant, he said six little words, the six that had meant the most to him since the day they were married.

"I will always love you, Natasha." Those words encompassed everything he meant to say but couldn't. And she would know that. He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, trying to push back the thought that this was the last time he would ever see her.

Steve set her hand back by her body and stood up, half expecting her to sit up and ask why he was leaving so soon. But that didn't happen. He instead walked out of the Quinjet, a broken man, leaving behind the one thing that meant absolutely everything to him.

By the time morning came, he was left staring at a single thing. And she was staring back. A sketch of Natasha looked back at him from the page, smirking slightly, green eyes alight. Her red curls blew softly in the wind as she sipped a cup of hot chocolate at the bench overlooking Central Park. The simple ring glistened on her finger, which was painted a deeper red than her hair.

Steve found himself smiling. It was a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Always and forever," he whispered to the drawing, placing it carefully in a frame and hooking it onto the wall above their bed. "Always and forever."

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*hands out tissues to those who need them* Sorry please don't hate me for this chapter! As a writer it hurt me too!


	5. The Invasion

**Happy Sunday! I tried with this chapter, I really did. It didn't turn out really how I wanted it, but I did my best. I know, it's cliche, but oh well. I am not the best at writing action sequences, but I am definitely working to improve them. Sorry for any OOC-ness, especially at the end of the chapter. As always, I hope that you guys enjoy! Shoutout to Zoeff, Lolli-x, wolflehr, RufusPrime54, Sportsfan64, and I-Write-Upon-My-Whims for leaving reviews!**

 **I don't own anything Marvel.**

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Thor dropped another warrior to the prison, glad that the break in was finally under control. In under a week, five groups of various warriors had snuck into Asgard and begun wreaking havoc. The guards stood at attention as Thor left, cape billowing behind him, Mjolnir held tightly in his hand. Jane was back at the palace, undergoing more training. Her knowledge of science had been beneficial to the Asgardians, but she was small and somewhat defenseless when she arrived. Now, almost a year after arriving on Asgard, she had turned into a strong warrior.

Thor made his walk down to the bifrost, just like every other day. The clear crystal glistened with colors under his heavy boots as he approached Heimdal, eager for news on his friends back on Earth. With so many invasions in the past week, it was unwise for him to leave Asgard, and he depended on Heimdal for updates.

"How are they?" he asked, getting right to the point. Heimdal knew the routine, and Thor understood that he no longer needed excuses to come and see the gatekeeper for news.

Heimdal closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them and frowning. His expression clearly darkened as he felt the wave of emotion from the Captain down on Earth, and the assassin that he clutched to his chest.

"What is it?" Thor questioned, slightly worried at the darkness that had crossed Heimdal's features.

"The assassin with red hair. It appears that she has left your fair Captain in battle," he said quietly.

Thor took a moment to process the news, shaking his head. "Lady Natasha would never leave Steven in battle. They always protect each other with a fierce devotion. Was she sent to a different mission than he was?" Somehow, he knew what Heimdal meant, but wanted to be sure. He was afraid of the answer that he knew was coming.

"She has passed." Thor in took a breath and held it, fighting back the emotion that threatened to cross his face. "I am sorry, Thor."

"Thank you, for the news, Heimdal," Thor whispered in return, turning on his heel and exiting the bifrost with quick steps. Tears clouded his eyes as he walked, but he blinked them away. He and Steven were the only two remaining of the first Avengers.

It was with a heavy heart that he delivered the news to Jane later that evening, who replied by wrapping her husband in a hug.

* * *

The next two weeks progressed slowly. More break ins to Asgard, and they got bigger every single time. Still, no one had any idea where they were coming from.

A hurried, static message was the only warning they got when the first wave struck. "Battle positions!" the perimeter guards yelled as Thor, Lady Sif and Warriors Three prepared for battle. In four minutes time, they were standing in front of the palace, weapons ready, staring down an army that had begun terrorizing the city below them. Jane was back in the palace with Odin's guards, helping to protect him.

"This looks like fun," Fandral said, removing his sword from his sheath. The golden shield started going up over the city, cutting off the invaders from entering.

"Let us make them know their place," Sif seethed, leading the charge down from the palace. When they got to the bottom, Asgardian warriors were doing their best to keep the invaders at bay, but there were simply too many. Hordes of warriors of every species were attacking the glimmering city.

Thor and his comrades split up, joining the fight with swords swinging. Thor lashed out with his hammer, easily batting some of the invaders away, and calling down lighting for those that had armor. Sif was slashing away with her sword and knocking enemies back with her shield. Metal clanging on metal filled the city as the two sides collided even more, the Asgardians barely holding back the invaders.

Volstagg was knocking them down with his axe while Hogun was blazing through the enemies with his swords.

The shield protecting the city suddenly began descending, until it was not present at all. Another wave of attackers joined their already strong ranks and the Asgardians were pushed back.

"The shield is down!" Volstagg yelled over the sounds of the battle.

"Really? I hadn't noticed!" Fandral shouted back. The wave was increasing in size and more of their citizens began to fall to the invaders.

"We must get the shield back up! It is our main defense against them!" Sif joined in the chorus of yelling. The perimeter guns began going off, hitting and incinerating tens of invaders at a time. Thor lit them up with lightning and they gradually began gaining ground.

Soon, there were only a hundred or so invaders standing. They began running through the ranks of Asgardians, into the city. "We are held down out here. Volstagg and Hogun, stay with our men. I will go with Fandral and Sif to check on the shield and get it back up," Thor commanded, wiping dirt off his brow.

"Just hurry," Volstagg replied, knocking more invaders out of the way.

The three warriors made their way back up to the palace, taking out any intruders they found lumbering through the streets. Taking the side entrance, their boots echoed in the silent halls as they made their way to the operating room where the shield's controls were held. Thor held up a hand and they slowed down. The doors to the room were open, and hushed whispers were coming from inside.

They slipped in and were faced with three burly, armed marauders. As soon as they heard the Asgardians come in, their attention was turned from fiddling with the shield to staring down Thor. "Ah, the prince of Asgard. Lovely to meet you," one of them spat, drawing his sword.

"Leave this room." Thor's voice boomed through the metal area, reverberating all around them. The three men looked to one another and began laughing.

"I take no orders from you. In fact, it is you who should leave." He swung his sword out at the same moment the other two men drew theirs.

Thor blocked the initial swing with his hammer, drawing it back quickly to his right and striking out with it. The hammer connected with the man's jaw and sent him sprawling out onto the floor. After a second, he leapt back up and began slashing again.

Fandral and Sif were encountering similar attacks with the men that they were facing. Eventually, Sif's man let down his guard and she pushed him with her shield and sent her sword into his stomach, drawing it out and letting him hit the ground. She teamed up with Fandral and easily defeated the second man.

Thor was still fighting with the same man, rivaling him in size and almost in strength. His sword skills were impeccable, Thor had to give him that. But he slipped up, missing the block by an inch. The sword found a hole in his armor and buried itself in his side.

Instantaneously, the feeling of flames began to lick at the wound as blood reddened the silver metal. Thor's eyes hardened and he struck out with his hammer. This time, he did not miss. A clean blow to the head and the man crumbled to the floor.

Thor pressed a hand to his wound and hissed. Sif jogged over to him, eyes alight with worry. "We must get you bandaged," she tried, but Thor waved her off.

"There is no time. More waves are incoming. You and Fandral get the shield back up. I will stand guard outside."

"Lady Sif is right, Thor," Fandral countered, coming to his friend's side. "You are in no shape to continue fighting at this pace."

"I heal fast. The priority is getting the city protected. We all have a job to do."

Sif and Fandral looked to the floor, knowing that arguing with Thor when he was so dead-set on his decision was pointless. "Just be careful," Sif sighed.

Thor sent her a wink and walked out of the room, steps not as confident but still strong.

"Do you even know how to get it running again?" Sif asked once Thor was out of the room.

"You doubt my genius?" Fandral replied, smirking at her. He dropped down next to the device that controlled the shield, opening the panel with the tip of his blade. various wires were revealed, some sparking and smoking. He clenched his teeth, wiggling his fingers and went to work. "Just keep guard."

Outside the room, it was apparent to Thor that more waves had come to the city and the Asgardians had not been able to hold. The sounds of battle were even closer. Every so often, someone would run into the hallways that led to the shield room. Thor would throw his hammer and it would be the end of the danger for that moment.

Things really started going south when more men began coming down the hallway, almost flooding it. His hand was crimson from holding it against his would, which refused to stop bleeding since he was continuously moving and fighting.

His hammer meeting targets rang out in the tall corridor until it ceased and he waited for the next wave. "Any progress?" he shouted into the room behind him.

"A few more minutes!" Fandral yelled back in response.

Thor's breathing was becoming heavy and uneven as he spun his hammer in his hand. "Thor, let me take over." Sif's voice came from the room.

"Nay. Protect Fandral. In this next wave, some will make it past me for sure." It was silent once again in the hall.

The thundering of boots and shouting of invaders announced the next wave's arrival. At least fifty armed men stood in front of Thor, crowding the hallway. Evil grins were plastered onto their faces as they charged forward. Thor took a deep breath and swung his hammer back, letting it fly out and connect with men before calling it back. Bodies began sprawling on the floor as he flung the weapon left and right, wound screaming out in pain as he did.

One warrior scuttled past him and he shouted a warning to Sif. In a second, the man's limp arm flopped down behind the door. While watching to make sure that she was okay, another man tried to knock the hammer from Thor's hand. The sword slid down the hammer, connecting with his wrist. Thor grimaced in pain and kicked the man back. He pressed his cape to the wound, but it did little good. Instead, he let the arm hang by his side and transferred Mjolnir to his left hand. Blood flowed and dripped from his wrist down onto the ground. More men were still coming down the hallway. Thor sighed and ran forward, kicking a few back and then throwing Mjolnir at the approaching invaders. But it wasn't enough.

Weak and dizzy from blood loss, more entered the shield entrance.

"There are too many!" he shouted over the sound of his hammer meeting a target.

"Let me help you!" Sif obeyed Thor's orders, knowing that protecting the city was the most important objective. However, she would have felt much better if she were by his side helping. But then no one would be protecting Fandral, and the work would get done slower if he constantly had to defend himself. She respected him to no end, but he could also be a selfless oaf sometimes.

Thor could tell that there was no way he could fight off all of the men coming for him and keep his friends protected. "Tell Jane how much I love her," was what he ended up saying.

"No, Thor. I am coming out to help you."

Thor moved back to the door, still hitting enemies as he did so. "Sif, tell her for me." She could hear the pain in his voice and only nodded, even though she knew that he couldn't see her.

"He's doing something stupid, isn't he?" Fandral called from his place on the floor. At the same moment, the door closed with a loud clang and locked itself.

"Stupid and brave," she whispered, dropping her sword to the ground. "Thor, open the door!" He did not obey. Only the sounds of battle came quietly under it.

More men flooded the corridor as Thor started to stumble. Still, he kept pushing. One hand on Mjolnir, his bleeding one pressed to the wound on his side. Each swing of the hammer felt like a whole new wound and any movement in his right arm made his wrist weep.

An invader ran towards Thor, a handheld explosive bared openly in his palm. Thor knocked down the man and threw the explosive away from the room. It went off a second later, turning the stone pillars to piles of rubble. Thor looked down at the man, where his vest was filled with those explosives.

An idea started coming to light as he removed his hand from his wound and used to it pick up explosives. The piles of rubble from the first one bled into the corridor, making the men run around it in order to reach him. He began setting explosives and throwing them into the corridor. But throwing them away wouldn't do enough. The entire area had to be blocked from the invaders.

"I love you, Jane," he whispered under his shaky breath as explosives continued to fly from his hand. The hallway began to shake as the pillars crumbled. One more explosive went off.

And the ceiling came down, followed by the rest of the pillars, burying the entrance to the room and the rest of the invaders; along with the broken, bleeding body of the demigod that lay underneath the rubble.

Sif and Fandral heard the explosions go off, one after another. An endless cascade of falling rubble. Then, it simply stopped. An eerie silence settled over the room as Fandral moved one last wire. "Got it!" he announced.

They both hurriedly stepped back as the golden ball began spinning again; slowly at first, but then it picked up speed. With the shield up, no more invaders could enter and the ones already inside would be trapped and face doom at Asgardian hands.

They sank down to the ground, relief on their faces, but hearts heavy. Judging by the explosions and how close they were, both Sif and Fandral knew what the fate of Thor was. The door was locked from the outside, so they simple sat together and waited for rescue while the Asgardian warriors retook their home. Thanks to their prince, they would all live to see another day.

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 **Again, sorry for cliche ending sacrifice and whatnot, but I couldn't find a better possible way to make this chapter. Sif not going to help was a little OOC, I know. Huge thanks to my amazing friend, I-Write-Upon-My-Whims for giving me advice and looking over this chapter. I think we all know who is next... :,( I may split his chapter up into two parts, I'm not sure yet. But, I do have it all figured out. I am not sure exactly when the next update will be, but it will be sometime this week for sure. Thanks for reading!**


	6. Alone

**I decided to split this up into two chapters. There will also be an epilogue, so two more chapters on the way! As a response to the guest who commented: As I mentioned in chapter one's A/N, Bucky died when he fell from the train. I decided not to include Darcy and Selvig because they were on Earth. I also forgot to mention in the previous A/N that I changed T:TDW's plot a little. SPOILERS. This is what I changed: Loki actually died and Odin is himself, not Loki in disguise. Sorry of that was confusing! Anyways, I wanted to write this chapter for a while, so hopefully you guys liked it as much as I did! Expect part 2 to be longer and on Saturday or Sunday.**

 **I don't own the Avengers**

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" _This just in. The Avengers were spotted earlier today taking down the head of a crime ring. However, a few notable members were missing. Captain America and Black Widow, better known as Steve and Natasha Rogers, were not present at the battle. Neither of them have been seen in almost a month. While it is possible that they are taking some time off, many officials and civilians alike speculate that something happened on one of their missions, likely injuring or killing one of both of them. We have reached out to the agency, but no official reports or press conferences have been held regarding the issue. The current Avengers, comprising of Falcon, Ant-Man, Scarlet Witch, Vision, and War Machine have all been seen more often in the wake of the other members' deaths. Again, no information has been released and many of the rumors are based off of speculation. However, it is unlike the team to be without their leader. Begging the question: where is Captain America?"_

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Two years later- Early 2025

The drawing seemed to come to life on the page as his pen moved across the paper, quickly stroking intricate black lines across the white surface. A man sitting on a bench, with a woman sitting next to him and looking down at what he was drawing came into view as the sketch became more detailed. Her hair blew in the wind, and a cap covered his short hair. The trees gave shade to the open grassy area of Central Park.

He pulled his hand back for a moment, stopping before drawing the woman's face. He could picture it so clearly, as if she were right next to him, watching what he was drawing, just like in the picture. Bright red hair, startling green eyes that could change from loving to murderous in under a second. But there was no woman sitting next to him in real life. It was just him, drawing a scene of the park. A scene that could have been real, but wasn't. Sighing, he closed the sketchpad and got up from the bench.

In a minute, he was on his motorcycle headed towards the small apartment in Brooklyn, the metal beast humming beneath him. He parked it in the designated spot and climbed the steps up to his apartment with light feet. Just as he started getting out his keys, his neighbor from the apartment across from his opened her door.

"Morning, Mr. Romanton," she greeted in a cheery tone.

"Morning to you as well, Ms. Cross," he replied, sending a small smile her way.

"I told you, call me Claire." Her voice was light and full of happiness, seeming to lift him up.

"I thought I told you to call me Aaron, and I'll remember to call you Claire. Deal?" Claire sent another smile his way before locking her door and heading down the steps.

"Have a nice morning!" she shouted over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

He smirked again to himself and opened the door, closing it behind him. Doing a quick sweep to make sure that he was alone, a habit that he never had gotten rid of, he took off his shoes and sat down on the couch, flipping the TV on. It automatically went to news, where it was blaring a story about the new Avengers taking down another enemy in Russia and destroying a small city in their wake.

He immediately turned the TV off, letting his head fall into his hands. It was two years to the day that he had handed in his resignation. Two years ago, he had walked out of the office, got on his Harley, and never gone back.

After Natasha's death, he went on one more mission before deciding that it just wasn't the same. He loved his teammates to death, but they simply weren't right. He missed Tony and Bruce and Clint and Natasha and Thor. He missed _his_ team. The ones that had countered his judgement, not always followed orders, and pranked him whenever they could. It hurt like hell living in the place where they had really become a big, dysfunctional family.

He informed the new group of his leaving, and with a few good wishes, he was off to see Maria Hill, who had filled in as director once Fury had passed. The second he walked into her office wearing civilian clothes and holding an envelope, she knew what it was about. He had placed his uniform and shield on her desk as well, but she stood up and handed it back to him with a sad smile in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Maria. I just can't-"

She cut him off. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Steve. I can't imagine how hard it must be. You did your duty and saved this planet so many times. You deserve a normal life after everything that's happened to you." She set him up with a fake alias, with a last name that he had requested, and formulated a history for him. Before leaving, he uttered another thank-you and wrapped her in a hug, before she said a thank-you of her own.

"If you or the team ever really needs me, you can find me," was the last thing he said in that building. The polished steel and glass of the headquarters faded into the side mirrors of his bike as he drove off, shield and suit stuffed into a bag that went over his shoulders.

She never did call to ask him about another mission. Both the first and last call she had made to his apartment was about a week later, to tell him that Thor had died during an attack on Asgard. The planet was safe, but he had died keeping it that way. Jane had come to deliver the news, asking that Thor be buried on Earth. His fellow Asgardians agreed that his final resting place should be among the friends that he had cherished so deeply and shared so much with. After the small funeral that Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, Horun, and Jane attended, they returned to Asgard to help with the cleanup.

The Avengers Cemetery housed five gray tombstones now.

He had hung up the phone numbly. He was the last one. Last one of his men from the 40s, last member of the original Avengers. He never slept through the night without a nightmare again. Not having someone there to help him through it, calm him down, was possibly the worst thing of all.

Sometimes, after a particularly bad one, he would imagine that Natasha was sitting next to him. Combing his hair back soothingly with her fingers, wrapped up around him to convince him that he was not sinking in the ice. Whispering comforting words and simply holding him until the tremors passed. She would tell him stories about anything; just the sound of her voice helped to calm him. The light fragrance of vanilla would drift over him and lull him into a light sleep. He would imagine her voice and the smell of her hair and would fall asleep clutching a pillow to his chest as if it were her.

But that was the best that he could do. Imagine her.

Other nights, when no amount of sleep would come to him, Steve would sit in the living room with the TV on but muted, toying with his wedding band. He would then draw for hours, until the side of his hand was silver with graphite and the sun hung on the horizon

Then there were nights that he would dream of her waking up screaming. A terrible, gut-wrenching sound that would echo in his ears forever. And then the silence that would follow as he would hold her in the quiet, rubbing small circles on her back until she fell back asleep.

So many different types of nights. But they all ended with him the same way. Red-eyed in the morning from thinking over memories the night before.

He would dream of Bruce's careful hands stitching him up and chastising him for being so heroic. The smell of tea that seemed to always hang in the air around the doctor.

He would dream of Clint and his awful jokes, but the way he never gave up on the 'band of super people' that Tony referred to them as. The archer that was just as fiercely protective over his second family as he was over his first. Steve made a few calls to Laura Barton over the years, but the contact eventually stopped after Nat died.

One of the things he missed the most was Tony's snarky attitude. It hurt him to admit it, but the inventor's constant need for coffee, never ending sass, and personality were something that Steve never came cross again.

Then there was Thor. The Asgardian that made Steve feel a little bit better about being so out of place. He and Thor would often joke about newfangled devices and then Tony would come in, wondering why the sprinklers came on. Thor and Steve would show him black toast and he would simply put a hand to his face and mutter "how the hell do you mess up _toast_ of all things?"

Steve worked and put all of those feelings into his paintings. He drew everything from flowers in the park, to his team on a mission, to bodies bleeding crimson into the pure white snow. He even sold a few of them, the most popular one being of the woman with flaming hair and piercing green eyes, smirking as if she knew something that they didn't.

Some people commented on his looks over the years, but he always brushed it off or came up with an excuse. His day to day life became monotonous. Without missions and close friends, it simply became lonely. But he made a point to call Sam at least once a month and check in with the new members of the Avengers. He would tell Steve about their missions, they would take about events in years passed, but eventually the call would end and the dead air on the other end of the phone reminded Steve that he was once again alone in the world.

On some of the particularly bad days, he would even call her. It was absolutely pointless, and he knew that calling his dead wife was the epitome of sadness, but her voice was the one thing that he missed hearing the most.

"Clint, if you're injured, call for help or call Bruce. Tony, if you blew some shit up, call for a firetruck. Bruce, if you need help with Tony call Pepper. Thor, if there are no more pop tarts, ask someone, namely Steve, to buy you some. Steve, I'm on a mission. Quit your worrying and ask Clint where I am. If he doesn't know and I'm not back within a week, ask Fury."

The message ended and Steve would be figuring out what to say. The first few times, he was simply sobbing into the phone. That progressed to talking. For a short few minutes, he could almost pretend like she would get the voicemail and call him back.

"Hey, Nat. Me again. I don't know where you are, not really. The other guys probably have a better idea than I do at the moment. Uh, I tried calling Fury, but that didn't really work out because, ya know. Anyways, tell the guys that I say hi. I miss you so much, every day and every night." He would hang up the phone, which was a step forward from throwing it against the wall, and stand in the middle of his apartment, unsure of what to do next.

The rest of his time was spent either at the gym, drawing himself, teaching a few art classes at the recreation center, or reading some books that people had recommended to him over the years.

Tired of thinking about events in the past, he turned the TV back on and flipped the channel to a movie, which was on commercial at the time. An ad for the military popped up on screen, showing all of the words that made up a soldier, and various clips from some of the recent wars.

That got the gears in Steve's head turning again. All the way back to what Ultron had said almost a decade ago. Not being able to live without a war. Without fighting. His purpose was to fight for the right thing. Living life without standing up and pushing back was monotonous. Fighting was all he had ever known, and if he saved even one person, it was worth it. It hurt him too much to be an Avenger. But maybe there was still a way that he could help keep his country safe.


	7. Two Years, Three Months, Nine Days

**Remember how I said that there would be two more chapters... I lied, sorry! Wolflehr helped me with this idea, which I turned into another chapter. Big thanks to him for the help and the idea of having Steve join the Delta Force. I don't really have an idea of how these guys train, other than the basics. So sorry if I seriously messed it up, but I tried! This chapter leads up to the next one. Part 3 will be the last of Steve's chapters, I guarantee. So two more after this one. I decided to give you guys a break from the majority of the feels until next chapter. Alright, this one is kind of a placeholder and is shorter, but I hope that you all enjoy! Thanks for reading, as always :). Next update will most likely be next weekend (sorry!), unless I can get it up sooner; but school is kicking my butt right now.**

 **I don't own Marvel of these characters.**

* * *

"Romanton! Get your ass up and haul it!" The loud voice shook Steve from whatever state he had fallen into and grabbed the rope in front of him. Even with wet and muddy hands, he climbed it easily and hauled himself over the adjacent wall. His boots crunched against the ground as he jumped off and landed at the end of the course. Taking a second to catch his breath, he adjusted the large combat vest over his chest.

The training wasn't as hard for him as it was for some guys, but it was definitely still tough. Nothing like the 40s or even what SHIELD had been training. All of that exercising was mainly indoors. This conditioning was all outdoors, to prepare them for the real missions that they would have to face. He was in training for the force, as the guys called it, or "delta force" as everyone else referred to. It was tougher that the Army and didn't have as much water training as the SEALs did, which Steve had always had problems with. Maria had provided him with falsified records saying that he served in Iraq, and with passing the ranger test, he was allowed to train for the force. Even though it wasn't strictly lying that he served; he had, just not in Iraq, he felt slightly uneasy. But the call to action and protecting people wiped out any uneasiness as more training and small missions were completed.

He had committed the details to his "service" to memory, so it was almost as if he had served.

"Dude, how in the hell did you finish so quickly?" a voice came from behind him, causing Steve to smirk and smile. The only friend that he had made in training; Kyle Hall, was standing next to him, breathing heavily from just finishing the course. "I swear, I'd rather have another mission than go through this every single day."

Steve gave a short chuckle as the commander marked them off and they were allowed to return to their tents. He and Kyle were bunkmates, part of the reason why they had grown so close. They leaned on each other through the training and were always able to pass jokes back and forth to each other. They just fit.

Kyle was thirty-four years old, and had served two tours, being dispatched in various locations around the globe. Suffering from a slight case of PTSD, like many of the other men, he felt that being around the guys and fighting did something to ease his mind. He had a wife and a small family back home in Kansas, where they worked the farm.

Steve couldn't help but feel a connection to Kyle from his similarities to Clint. Humorous, family on a farm, light brown hair and laughing eyes. Sometimes it was a comfort to see his old friend in his new one. Other times it just brought back the memories.

He still hadn't let it slip about his actual identity. Whenever he woke up from a nightmare, he blamed it on Iraq and told Kyle to go back to sleep. But he could sense that his friend was getting suspicious. The nightmares were too common, and he often woke up shivering, something that he had no control over. He did, however, learn how to control himself from waking up and screaming. That was a relief.

Steve opened the flap to the tent and followed Kyle in, taking off his vest and laying it on the floor by his bed as he did so. His entire body was covered in a layer of mud, including his hair. His face had always remained clean-shaven. It made him look more like Steve Rogers, but it was a habit that he didn't know how to kick. It was how he looked way back in the forties, and frankly, he thought a beard looked strange on him.

"Debriefing at eighteen-hundred," Kyle relayed. "Giving us some time to clean ourselves up I guess. How nice of them."

"Real nice. If they just hadn't let us get dirty in the first place now…" Steve trailed off, smirking as he rummaged through his locker to get a clean pair of clothes.

"Did you sign up for the force or not? Dude, you're gonna get dirty. I could always smear some grease on your face or something. Make you look like one of those soldier badasses from the movies," Kyle laughed back.

"I know, I know. Come on, you ready? Those showers fill up quick."

* * *

After they had showered, Steve noticed Kyle's eyes lingering on his neck. More precisely, the chain where his dog tags hung. Hidden among the pressed metal, however, was a small spider charm. It was his way of keeping her close. A simple silver spider with a red hourglass on one side. He had thought about making the spider black, but that would have been too obvious.

They made it back to the tent at seventeen-hundred and threw on a pair of clean clothes. It was silent, which was odd. There was normally some amount of talk going on.

"They must all be getting cleaned up," Steve said, taking note of how Kyle appeared to be listening for guys around and next to the tent. The man's eyes settled on his and for a brief second, he saw a flash of recognition. Everything inside of Steve tightened up and his body became as taut as a bowstring. Did Kyle know? What would he say if he did? Would it really be that awful if his one friend knew the truth?

What Kyle said next cemented the fear into his mind. "How long has it been?"

Since what? Steve's mind reeled at the question. What was Kyle looking for?

"Since what?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Since you lost her," was his simple reply. His eyes were trained on the tags that disappeared underneath Steve's shirt.

Chances were that he knew. He was just looking to see if Steve would give him an answer or not. "Or is she not really gone?" he finished, eyes drifting up to Steve's. They were a mix of both wonder and confusion. Somehow, Steve knew that he couldn't lie to him. Natasha had always told him how terrible of a liar he had been anyways.

"No, she's gone. Two years. Three months. Nine days," he replied softly.

"Jesus," Kyle whispered. "How-"

"Three gunshot wounds to the abdomen. I tried to help, but she was already too far gone. She died in my arms. Bleeding out into the snow. Nothing I could do," Steve took a deep breath, watching the footage play before his eyes just as it had every single day after her death. He could see his hand numbly picking up a pen and writing the mission report. The black lines that had proven to himself and to the agency that the Black Widow was dead. "We were tracking rebels. They set up a trap. We got caught fighting them in a snowstorm and got separated. Simple as that."

"So, the nightmares. Not from Iraq, like you've been telling me then, right?" Kyle pressed. Steve shook his head in response. "Why lie? You look like Captain America. Hell, you act like him too. I've heard you curse probably twice this entire time. All of my swearing could have paid for a trip to Hawaii for my family back home in the swear jar."

"If I went back into service, I didn't want people looking up to me like the hero everyone thinks I am. I didn't want that responsibility again, and that makes me a coward, I know that. But that amount of weight on my shoulders got every single one of my team members killed. I wouldn't be able to stand it if you guys here looked up to me and I got even one of you killed. No one else can die because of me."

Kyle was listening intently, sitting on the edge of his cot looking over at Steve. "Look, I've known since week two of training. When you stopped you own run to pull James to his feet after he fell. I'm sure I'm not the only guy here who knows it, either." Steve shrunk. Was he really that bad at keeping his identity a secret? He could only imagine the laughs that Clint and Nat were sharing.

"But we haven't said anything. You know why? Not cuz we don't want to embarrass you or don't want your leadership, which I'm sure is amazing. Coming out here in itself is a testament to who you are. You've been fighting all your life. You lose something, take a few years off, and go right back into the fray to protect your country again. You truly are one of a kind, and it is an honor to serve beside you."

Steve was at a loss for words. The fact that Kyle was not angry with him for lying was taking up most of his thoughts. He was accepting of Steve's reasons for his actions and genuinely believed him, which was somewhat surprising.

"Why do you look so dumbfounded? It's not that hard to understand!" Steve looked to him, expecting an answer. "Look, I can't even imagine how hard this must be for you. Hell, you're probably younger than I am! And you've been through so much. Last of the Commandos, last of the Avengers…"

"Thanks for that," Steve said sarcastically.

"Shut up and let me finish my hero monologue! All of that stuff, and you're still the modest, quiet guy that you are. Not showing up here to tell us how it's done, or be the leader. Not doing it for the press. Doing it because you want to."

"It's literally and figuratively what I was made to do," Steve smirked.

"I've had guys die under my command too. Gone, because of me. It never does get easier. But if I keep fighting, I keep their memory alive. And I can see it in you. Every single person you've lost, you fight for them. And it shows."

"I really don't know what to say…" Steve trailed off.

"You don't have to say anything. How about we go get some food, get the debriefing, and prep for the mission?"

"Sounds good to me."

Both men stood up from their beds and pulled on their boots. On the way out, Kyle clapped a hand onto Steve's shoulder. "They'd all be proud of you, Steve. Every single one of them." Steve nodded and gave a small smile. He couldn't help but feel that Kyle was right.


	8. We Can Go Home

**Alright, this chapter hurt. A lot. Which is why it is a little longer than usual. The next chapter will be the last one. Probably next weekend again; sorry for the long waits. I apologize for getting any of the military stuff wrong. I know that they would never leave a man behind, but for this chapter, they do.**

 **Zoeff had some great questions, which some of you may also have, so I will answer them. It is common knowledge that they were married. I picture the cemetery being gated and closed, with a guard stationed to make sure that no one tries to break in or anything. But people can look inside through the gates and read the tombstones and leave stuff outside in honor of the heroes. The media knows when the Avengers die, just not how.**

 **Hopefully that answers some questions! If you have any more, please leave a review! Thanks to everyone that has reviewed and favorited and followed! 35 is a lot! :) Okay, long A/N, so sorry! Hope you guys like it!**

 **Chapter warnings: War violence. Lots of feels.**

 **Songs for this chapter:** **"Murphy's Ridge" and "Lone Survivor"- Lone Survivor Soundtrack by Explosions in the Sky and Steve Jablonsky**

 **"** **This is My Choice"- Captain America: The First Avenger Soundtrack by Alan Silvestri**

 **I do not own Marvel characters or any of the songs. I just listened to them a lot while writing this.**

The glass window next to Steve exploded as gunfire peppered the air, cutting through the silence. In an instant, Steve and his men snapped their guns up, looking for the shooters. The air around them was heavy with adrenaline and anticipation.

"Sniper, two o'clock!" Jason yelled. More bullets rained down upon them, one connecting with a soldier named Mike. He went down instantly and Steve moved to cover him from the sniper on the roof to their right. Steve looked around for any area of cover. In the middle of an open space, bordered on two sides by buildings, stood a small, brick wall. The other two sides around it were nothing but open, flat sandy land. It was pointing diagonal to both of the structures, so it would offer then protection.

"Move to the wall!" Steve yelled over the bullets. One by one, his men ran behind the brick wall for cover. More bullets, this time from the roof of the building that they were under, tried to connect with the soldiers. Luckily, they all failed.

"Aaron, I got you covered!" Kyle yelled from the barrier, his scope on the enemy sniper on the building that they had just been under. Steve nodded and hauled Mike to his feet, the man groaning as he put weight on his injured leg. Mike fired on the sniper, dragging his leg behind him as Steve helped pull him behind the wall. Kyle's fire, along Chase's, pinned down the snipers until Steve and Mike were safe.

"This was supposed to be a recon!" Thomas yelled. There were seven of them in all, each of them checking ammo, huddled behind the only protection they had. Steve was on the end, with Mike panting next to him. Thomas was next to Mike, checking his wound over. Chase was reloading his weapon, and passing a magazine to Jim. Jason was seated next to Kyle, who was on the opposite end of the wall from Steve.

"Things go wrong sometimes. This is war. Learn to expect the unexpected," was Steve's only reply. Memories flashed behind his eyes of all of the missions that had gone wrong while with the Avengers. Blood on the ground, everywhere he seemed to look. Then there was the one that cost him Natasha…

A sharp bolt of pain drew him from the memory as the leg that had been sticking out was hit with metal. He drew the limb back, a red stain spreading against the camouflage pants. Drawing a sharp breath in and out, his fists clenched and unclenched as he felt the bone crack. It was terribly painful, but nothing that he hadn't handled before. Contrary to what Clint had believed, Steve never got used to being shot.

"Damn, these guys can aim! They've got us pinned down!" Jim commented.

"No shit, Sherlock," Kyle responded, unclipping the magazine from his gun and replacing it with a full one. He poked his head above the bricks, but quickly pulled it back down. A bullet made a hole in the wall where his head had been a second earlier.

"Any bright ideas?" Thomas looked towards Steve, who had been put in charge of the mission. They couldn't go above the wall for a shot, in risk of getting their heads blown off in the process. Running into the open, away from the enemy would mean that they would have open shots at the soldiers.

Chase was on the sat phone, calling for emergency evac. He shook his head, dropping the phone and cursing under his breath. "They can't get to us for at least twenty minutes."

"Damn," Jason muttered, lowering his head and sighing.

A plan slowly started forming in Steve's head. The same plan that he had made happen on tens of missions with the Avengers. The one plan that his entire team hated. The one that they would always try to convince him to not do, even though their lives hinged on it.

The one...

"I'm going to come out of cover, draw their fire away from you guys. I can take them out while you run for cover," Steve said. Immediately all of their heads turned to him.

"Aaron, no. We figure this out together," Kyle responded, shaking his head.

"You have to escape. If you can run and get out of their line of sight, you'll be okay. Don't come back. If I don't get both of them, you could be walking back into it."

"No!" Kyle yelled. The rest of the team was silent, waiting to see what decision would be made. "It's a suicide mission. We can't have you do that. We go down fighting, together."

Steve appreciated Kyle's will to have them all go together. Everything that they had all been through, in both training and missions, had made them all like brothers to each other. They never left a man behind. But it wasn't something they had time for. Mike was losing blood, and the snipers could have reinforcements on the way.

"It's twenty minutes, Aaron. We can stick it out for that long," Kyle tried.

"No. They may already have more soldiers inbound. They will wipe us out. This is the only way to ensure that at least some of you get out of here alive. They put me in charge of this mission. If it ends with my death, but your survival, it is worth it. This is the plan."

'Yes sirs' were muttered by the entire group. It was clear that the only reason why they were agreeing was because Steve had been put in charge. If it had been any other way, they would have shot down the idea. Kyle's gaze was still on Steve's. "Let me go with you at least. It's not fair for you to go down alone. You could use the backup."

Steve shook his head again. "You have a family back home, waiting for you to come back." Clint's family at least was with him when he passed. Steve made it his duty to make sure that Clint came home to them after very single mission.

If Kyle didn't come home to his wife and kids, it would be his fault. He would never let himself live it down if another one of his friends died under his command. He had lost his five friends already, and he wasn't about to lay down and let more fall.

"You're like family to me. To all of us. Another one of us could take this."

"I'm already injured. I'll just slow you guys down," Steve explained, trying to find more reasons for why he had to be the only one.

"You're just one guy against two freaking snipers. How is that going to play out, Aaron? Either you die, riddled with bullets, which would be nice. Or they take you prisoner and torture you and hold you for ransom. I really don't want to wake up every single day wondering what they are doing to you. Or seeing your face blasted across every goddamn TV screen as missing in action, or about to be decapitated or anything like that."

"He has a point there, Aaron," Jason chimed in.

"The answer is no. If that is my fate, then so be it. But I won't let myself get captured."

"Then they will kill you," Thomas whispered.

"They can try. I've been shot before." Steve cast his glance to Kyle, who probably knew exactly what he was talking about. He had the best chance out of any of the guys to survive being shot. But even he knew that the right number of bullets in the right places would end him. It had, more than a few times.

Kyle kept shaking his head. He knew that Steve was right, but that didn't mean that he has to be particularly happy about it. He was out of arguments and looked to Steve with a pleading look in his eyes. Kyle was letting Captain America face death alone, and he knew it. But he respected Steve, so he ultimately trusted his decision.

"Just be careful," was all he said.

All of the times his team had told him that before this particular plan. It always ended the same way. In a mission in Greenland, it had finished with Natasha screaming over his body until Tony had gotten medical equipment and was able to shock him back to life. There would be no medical equipment this time, and Steve knew that.

"Always am," Steve replied. He addressed the rest of the team. "On my go, someone pick up Mike. Start running. Do not stop. Do not come back without reinforcements, even if the gunfire stops. Are we clear?"

Jason, Mike, Chase, Kyle, Jim, and Thomas nodded, readying their weapons and sitting up on their heels. Thomas grabbed Mike's arm as the injured soldier sat up straighter.

Kyle's eyes met his one more time and Steve nodded.

"3, 2, 1!" he whispered, as to not draw the snipers to think about what they may be planning. All at once, the men popped up and fired a few rounds at the snipers. They then ran forward with hunched backs, trying to stay small and close to the ground. Mike was hauled to his feet and the rest of them started running. Steve aimed his gun and shot.

The round went wide and the sniper ducked. Their scopes were pointed towards him, not the escaping men, which brought him a sigh of relief. The boot-steps from his men began to grow quieter, but they were still present. Steve could run after them, but he risked being hit in the back or the snipers following.

It was better to stay, fight, and end the threat. A bullet from the sniper on his left tore through his shoulder, bringing his gun down. Fire licked the inside of the wound, and he could feel the metal clicking against the shattered bone. Warm blood began seeping into his vest and running down his undershirt. Spots danced in front of his eyes as he sucked a breath in and aimed, sending another bullet towards the covered man.

The sniper's bullet met his abdomen first, followed by another from the right, which went directly into his side. Stabbing, awful pain that lit up his entire torso. It was almost unbearable. He struggled with every single breath, resisting the urge to cough. But Steve didn't miss a second time. The bullet hit the sniper on the left and he fell back from his rifle, the weapon sliding off the roof and landing on the ground.

The man on the right fired two fast rounds, both connecting with Steve's right leg. The limb buckled, sending him down to the ground. He could hear his femur crack under the impact. Although it didn't completely snap, it was still enough to steal the breath from his lungs and bring tears to his eyes. His red blood mixed with the orange, sandy earth. As he took aim, another crack sounded.

Steve didn't even have time to react, still trying to push down the pain from the last two shots. The bullet went directly into the right side of his chest. Ribs shattered as the metal made contact with them. His entire body was on fire. He was losing too much blood to quickly. It dripped down his fingers, coated his uniform. Even the barrel of his rifle was slick and sticky with crimson. Even the serum couldn't keep up with his injuries.

His gaze on the man was steady as another shot went into his left leg this time. He took a shuddering breath in, blinking spots out of his eyes and trying to ignore the blood that pooled in his mouth, probably from a punctured lung.

The scope of his rifle lined up with the targets' head, despite the slight shaking in his arms, especially the left arm. He put his finger on the trigger and pulled. A bang resounded through the area, followed by silence. The sniper went limp, a trail of blood leaking out of his forehead, where Steve's bullet had hit.

The body began falling forward and dropped onto the sand below, where it lay still in the dirt.

The weapon fell from Steve's hands as he collapsed back onto the ground. His legs were a tangled, bleeding mess underneath him. His chest leaked blood as his scratchy breath hitched in his throat. His uniform was more red than brown.

A tickle started in the back of his throat and he coughed. A horrible, wet sound as blood began coating his lips.

His lungs struggled for every half breath that he managed to choke in behind the wetness in his eyes.

Steve stared up at the sky, eyes blinking lazily. The pain began to ebb away until it was just a dull throb. The crimson blood wet the ground under his mangled form. He did not dare to look at his shoulder, or legs for that matter. He knew what he would see, and it wouldn't be pretty.

So instead, he reached up to his neck, scrambling to find his dog tags. In one swift move, he yanked them off. The pressed metal of his tag was cool against his red skin. The small spider was covered in blood from his chest. The second tag, a much older one, was also coated in the substance. Words that once covered the tag were faded with wear. But Steve knew exactly what it said. What it had said. The man it had belonged to.

His hand dropped down to the ground, still clutching the tags in a vise-like grip. The metal was uncomfortable and threatened to cut into his skin, but Steve simply ignored it. The sun became dimmer as his body relaxed.

"I'm not ready to go," the phrase that had echoed in his head every single time he had been on the verge of death. He still had so many people to save, so much to do. But he was always brought back. His team was always there with him.

But this time, he was alone in the sand. No one was watching over him, or begging him to hold on. He couldn't hear his men anywhere. "I'm okay," he whispered through cracked lips. What came out was more of a pained croak as his throat closed up around his words. The desert was quiet, and so was he.

The blackness began to consume him as he gripped the tags tighter. The three pieces of metal that meant so much to him.

Enough encounters with death made him know what was coming. What to expect. There had always been a name screaming his name, begging him to come back. This time, it was silent. Every time he thought it was the end, light would always explode and he would wake up. The feeling of falling would cease, and he would be thrust back into the living world.

But that was not the case. He slipped away. The sun disappeared beneath a dark horizon. The blue sky and dusty air began to slip away from his view, until it was just a dark area surrounding him. Steve could pick out the silhouettes of the building in front of him, but it seemed so far away. He felt a hand grip his in place of where the tags used to be. It was warm and soft. It's small shape seemed to fit perfectly in the grip of his larger, rougher one.

"We can go home." The words were whispered softly and sweetly, lifting him from what minuscule grip he had left on himself. Before, he didn't believe it. Every single time before, he had held on. He fought the words, and he waited for his team, his friends. He waited to be sure that it was done, but it never was. The fight had never been done for him.

Until now. Was his fight really done? Could he survive without fighting, without a purpose?

No, he couldn't. But he didn't have to worry about surviving to find a purpose. There was no team other than the ones that were waiting for reinforcements. There was no help coming his way any time soon. There was no person to help him along.

Besides her.

The hand gripped his tighter and pulled him forward, away from everything he had known. He let it tug him away. It was as if he was taken out of everything he had once known. A sense of emptiness settled in his bones as he felt himself pass through what felt like a wave of water.

Like the one on the Valkyrie, so many years ago.

But it wasn't cold. The ice was not encroaching on his form. The water was dark, so very dark, but it was warm. Her hand in his calmed him as he closed his eyes. She led him into an embrace and whispered in his ear. "Imagine it."

He was done imagining.


	9. End of the Line

**I know, I know. It's a week late. Sorry about that! I was swamped with schoolwork this week and came down with a nasty cold the past few days :( But I still managed to get this finished! Sorry if it seems a bit rushed in some parts, I did try to not make the chapter too long. Anyways, thank you so much to all of my amazing readers! You guys are awesome! :) I love hearing your feedback; it lets me know that I'm doing something right. This is the last chapter in this story :( but I do have plenty more ideas! So you will see me again soon enough. This chapter is longer than usual, be advised.**

 **I imagined that each team member would have one of these "level" things that I made up for this story. Tony would see Pepper, Thor would see Jane and Darcy and Selvig, and so on, when they died of course. I just decided to not touch on that in the actual story.**

 **Songs for this chapter (I listened to a lot while reading this): "Pieces" by Rob Thomas; "Photograph" by Ed Sheeran; "Every Breath You Take" The Police cover by Aaron Krause and Liza Anne; "Waking Up" by Steve Jablonsky 'Lone Survivor' soundtrack; "Saturn" by Sleeping At Last; "Come Home" by Onerepublic.**

 **Okay, done with the long A/N. Hope you all enjoy this final chapter! I loved writing this story and hope that you all enjoyed it as well!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. All songs listed belong to their respective owners. I own nothing.**

* * *

" _New reports have come flooding in over the fight in Afghanistan, which left one delta force member dead. The mission, which was a simple recon, went wrong when the team of seven men was pinned down by two enemy snipers. Captain Aaron Romanton gave his life so that his men could escape," the newscaster took a pause. "But new evidence is showing what could be the answer to the years-long mystery. Romanton was discovered where his team had fled, the cause of death being severe blood loss. He was clutching dog tags in his hand, both with different names on them. After an autopsy and an analysis were taken, we have now come to the answer of the question: Where is Captain America? We can now confirm that he is deceased. Here with us today we have one of his delta force brothers in arms, Kyle Hall. Thank you for being with us today, Kyle."_

 _"_ _Pleasure to be here," he responded._

 _"_ _There are hundreds of questions floating around out there as Captain Rogers' body is on the way to the cemetery. The two most asked being: why did he disappear? And did any of you know about his true identity?"_

 _Kyle took a pause before answering._ _"Well, the answer to the first one, I imagine, is fairly simple. Imagine living in a house your entire life with a family. But then your entire family dies or moves or whatever. That house is going to feel really lonely, even if in-laws come to fill it."_

 _"_ _Are you inferring that the 'New Avengers' as they have been called, are like the in-laws?"_

 _"_ _Yes and no. It was obvious that Steve had a relationship with them, but not as close as with his core group. The death of his wife really affected him. In answer to the second question, yes. Most of us knew or had thoughts about it. He looked like Captain America, he was good at everything, and he was just a good guy. You can't put down morals and values like that."_

 _"_ _How did he react when he found out that someone knew?"_

 _"_ _I was the first, I think. He went along with it, told me everything. About Natasha, his team, why he left. He really trusted me. Then, less than twenty-four hours later, I'm running for my life and leaving Captain America to fend for himself," Kyle finished._

 _"_ _Is there a lot of guilt that comes with that?" the interviewer pushed._

 _"_ _I left one of my good friends back there, didn't matter if he was Captain America or not. But he had a plan, and was set to it. We had to follow orders. He wanted to make sure that we got home to our families. He accomplished that."_

 _The interviewer nodded._ _"You also said that he told you everything. Any specifics that you can recall?"_

 _Kyle shook his head._ _"What he told me, ma'am, I will not say. It is very possible that he wanted some of this to die with him, and I can assure you that the agency would not like a bunch of leaks about the exact ways each of its team members died. Look, he gave his life for this country, time and time again, and never complained. The least we can do is respect his privacy and his choices."_

 _"_ _Great way to end it," she nodded and turned back to the camera. "Captain Rogers' funeral will be held today at five pm and will end with a fireworks show at seven. All flags will fly at half-mast for the next six days to commemorate our heroes that did so much to keep all of us safe and sound. May they all rest in peace."_

* * *

He was going up fast. Extremely fast. As if he were in an elevator that would stop for absolutely nothing. The feeling of warmth never left his side.

As soon as the rising sensation stopped, his world was bathed in a soft, yellow light. It emanated from a lamp in the corner of the room, which was new, but furnished to look older. Steve looked down at himself, surprised to not see his tactical vest on his body. There were no bullet holes or crimson lines staining his clothes. He was dressed in a simply blue shirt and jeans; one of his favorite outfits.

A pair of light footsteps made their way towards him and he turned to get a better look. A woman with rich brown curls and a blue dress hugging her features came towards him. Instantly Steve's heart leapt into his throat.

"Sorry I'm late," was all he managed to whisper out. Peggy shook her head and smiled. She walked in closer to him and brushed a stray hair away from his face.

"Don't you dare apologize," she replied.

"Yes, ma'am," Steve said, nodding to her and not wanting to argue. She took both of his larger hands in hers, then placed them on her hips. She then proceeded to hook her arms around his neck. Soft music began to flow through the room and Peggy swayed back and forth, Steve following suit.

"I told you that it wasn't hard," she said quietly, looking up at him with curious brown eyes.

He took a minute to study her features. She looked exactly the same as she did all those years ago. Almost a century ago. "I missed you so much, Peg."

"I know. I missed you too." She brought her arms over his shoulders more until she was pressed up against him, leaning her head on his shoulder. His hands moved from her hips to her back. They stayed like that and simply swayed back and forth to the music.

It reminded him of the vision that Wanda had shown him, all those years ago. His fear of his past and becoming alone again. It was obvious, dancing with his best girl, that those fears no longer haunted him.

"It could have been like this," he mused. "Had I not-"

"Saved millions of lives?" she asked, breaking away slightly to look up at him. "You and I both know that a domestic life would not have suited us. You saved all those people without a second thought. I still got my dance, but it just took a little bit longer." Peggy's words were light and meaningful, sinking into Steve's bones.

"It could still be like this. Wherever we are, we could go together," he tried.

Peggy shook her head. "I'll always be here. But you have more pressing matters to attend to." She dipped her head up slightly, staring wistfully at the ceiling.

"Will I see you again?" Steve asked.

"We both know the answer to that." She pressed a light kiss to his cheek and began moving away, unlocking her arms from around his neck. His hand caught hers, but slipped when she kept walking, blue dress sashaying as she did.

* * *

The feeling came for him again and he was thrust into darkness. He was more calm this time, only wondering what he would encounter next.

As the uplifting stopped, another room came into view, coming forth as if it were being exposed by receding fog. It was another old fashioned room, this time in brown and green hues. His analysis of the room was cut short when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his frame.

Steve immediately knew who it was and did not hesitate to return the gesture. After a few moments, they pulled back. "You God-damn idiot," was the first thing out of Bucky's mouth.

"Excuse me?" Steve asked, taken aback by his friend's sudden statement.

"You jumped out of a plane without a parachute. You slammed a plane into the Arctic. What the hell is with you and planes? How much of an idiot do you think I am? Less than you, obviously!" Bucky was trying to keep a stern face, but he was smiling beneath it. "You nearly died almost ten times. Yup, I counted. See, this is what happens when I'm not there! You go and take every single opportunity you can and get injured more than half the time."

Steve had no idea how to respond. All of Bucky's points were valid, of course, but Steve was slightly confused as to how he knew everything.

He stopped thinking when he noticed the stupid grin on Bucky's face before he began to chuckle. "I'm just messing with ya," he said, slapping Steve on the shoulder. "But seriously. No more stupid shenanigans."

"Yes, sir," Steve picked up his hand and saluted. He took a minute to look at Bucky, his brother that he had not seen in almost a century. He hadn't changed. Bucky's hair was neatly cut, his face was shaven, but he wore normal, modern civilian clothes.

His face was not bloody and his body was not broken, as it had been in the thousands of nightmares that he had encountered over the years. Hands outstretched as he watched Bucky fall again and again. In some of the dreams, he found the body. In some, it looked normal, while in others it was red and mangled. "Do I have something on my face?" Bucky asked, running a hand along his chin in a confused manner. He could obviously tell that something was up by the way Steve looked back to him with sadness in his eyes. It took a second for it to click in his mind.

"Oh, God, Steve," Bucky murmured, and drew Steve back in for a hug. It was evident that Steve was trying his best to hold himself together, but he still shook from holding back his tears. All at once, they were back to how they had been before. Bucky protecting him. He had failed at his duty for years, leaving Steve on his own. But he was glad that other people were there to pick up his slack. Holding Steve this close, it felt like he was protecting his small friend from a storm once again. "I'm sorry I left," he whispered.

"No," Steve responded, almost forcefully, drawing back. "I let you fall. I could have been faster, or picked up my shield, or have made sure that the agent was dead."

Bucky simply shook his head. "There was nothing you could have done. It was my job to protect you, and I died doing my job. That's enough for me."

"But-"

"No buts, Steve! It happened in the past. I am terribly, awfully sorry for what happened. Leaving you…it was that hardest thing I ever did."

Steve took a deep breath in and sighed. "We looked for you after," he whispered. "Nothing. No blood, no clothes, nothing. All that was left on your bunk after was a pair of your tags." He moved under his shirt and pulled out the chain. His tag, the spider, and Bucky's were all still there, shining in the light.

"I know," was what came out of Bucky's mouth. He smirked slightly at Steve's look. "I couldn't completely leave you alone, are you kidding me? I've been watching since I fell. Not in a stalkerish way, no. But I had to make sure that you were okay. I saw what you did, for your men. With the Commandos, with the Avengers, with your troops. You handled everything with strength. Stupid strength sometimes, yes. But your attitude towards freedom and helping others never faded."

"Thanks, Buck."

"I have to admit," he continued. "I was rooting for you and the spy since you guys met. My little Stevie finally got a date!"

Steve punched him slightly in the arm, which sent them both chuckling.

"I'll always be here, you know. Always," Bucky responded, once their quiet laughter had died down.

"I know," Steve whispered.

With that, Bucky disappeared and the air around him was silent again.

* * *

"Capscicle!" A loud voice shouted, startling Steve. The feeling had stopped again, and he was in another room. Only one person called him by that name, and that was Tony.

Turning his head, he saw the billionaire walking towards him with a drink in one hand. His hair was dark again, not that blackish-gray it had been at the end of his life. His skin was bright and peachy. His eyes looked…alive.

He walked right up to Steve and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'd say it was nice to see you, but under the…circumstances…" his voice drifted off.

"I missed you, Tony," Steve said, returning a sad smile.

"Yeah, it was lonely here for a while. Brucey showed up next, which pissed me off. But we kept each other company. Clint showed up a while later, followed by Thor."

"And Natasha?" he asked.

Tony shrugged. "Clint said he saw her a few times, but didn't know where she went. She was here for a little and then poof! Haven't seen her again."

Steve looked down at the floor, then back up to the drink in Tony's hand. A sense of guilt washed over him. If he and the team had said something about Tony's drinking, then he would have had more time.

"It's water. Learned my lesson, for once," Tony muttered, catching Steve's gaze on the clear substance in the class.

"I'm sorry for not getting involved. I could have helped."

"Don't give me any of that crap," Tony interjected. "You and I both know that it would have done no good. I'm too think-headed. But I do appreciate it."

"By the way. You and Red. Totally called it," he whispered, patting Steve on the shoulder.

"Steve!" more voices carried across the room, being the combined ones of Clint and Bruce.

"I'll hang back for a little. Catch ya later, Capinater!" Tony said and walked off, just as Bruce and Clint arrived. They both met him with a hug, which he returned.

"Long time no see, Cap," Bruce started, adjusting the glasses on his face.

"I missed you guys," Steve replied, a smile breaking out on his face. It was bittersweet because, well, they were all…gone. But at least he got the chance to see them again.

"Yeah, not much we could do about that," Clint muttered. Steve's face changed and he tried to apologize, as that was not what he meant, but a wide smile spread across Clint's face. "Told you he hadn't changed!"

Tony called something from the other side of the room, to which Bruce nodded before saying "I'll catch up with ya later, Steve." Bruce moved past Steve and walked over to where Tony had been, talking as he did.

"Steve, I wanted to thank you," Clint started.

"For what?"

"Looking after Laura and the kids. Those few times really helped, I could tell. And thanks…thanks for keeping Nat safe."

"Of course, Clint."

"It was just nice knowing that someone was keeping them safe, you know?" Steve could see that archer's eyes fill with tears.

"They know how much you love them, Clint. They grew up knowing what kind of a man their father was."

"I know, I know. Damn it, I said I wouldn't cry. Fu-" Clint cut himself off.

"Language," Steve quipped, the age-old joke still serving to make both of them laugh.

"Look, about Nat. I only saw her once. I have no idea where she went. Sorry, Steve," he whispered.

The soldier nodded in response. "Thanks, Clint."

"Fire in the hole!" came a voice from down the hall.

"Awh, shoot. Tony's blowing stuff up again. Yes, it can still happen wherever we are. I'll catch ya later, Cap! I'd rather not be dead and then blown to kingdom come!" He took off down the hall, where Bruce was shouting for a fire extinguisher.

"Lord Steven!" Thor's voice boomed seconds before he wrapped his arms around Steve and practically lifted him off the ground.

"Hey Thor," he laughed after he was set down again.

"It has been too long since I have seen you last," the Asgardian said, stepping back to look at Steve. "You look well."

"Probably better than I feel," Steve joked.

"Heimdall told me of Lady Natasha's passing. I am sorry," Thor said quietly. Steve simply nodded in response.

"It's okay. You doing alright?" Steve had no idea in what circumstances Thor had passed in. All he knew is that it was defending Asgard from invaders.

"In such circumstances, yes. I fell in battle protecting my home, as is just. You were able to fall defending those you called your brothers. Both are admirable."

Steve felt a small blush rise in his cheeks. "Was everyone watching me?"

"Of course!" Thor changed his tone when he noticed how confused Steve looked. "Not all the time, but we did try to check in once a day. You are our brother, Steven, and we wanted to make sure that you were safe."

"Thanks."

"It was my pleasure. Now, I must go and make sure that Tony does not blow anything else up, as he did when I arrived. We will talk again later."

"Later, Thor."

It was so strange, speaking to his teammates again. Some of them had been gone for so long, he almost forgot what it felt like to interact with them. He missed them incredibly, but over time, he would forget what Clint's laugh would sound like. Or how Thor's voice would shake the glass every time he spoke. The smell of Tony'd coffee mixing with Bruce's tea in the mornings. Natasha's sweet vanilla scent that filled the floor they had shared.

All of the little things; those were the ones that he missed the most. The sounds of sparking electricity and the yelling of his comrades filled his ears as the feeling returned. The room slowly dissipated into blackness as the sounds died away.

* * *

The next room he was placed in was similar to the old one he had at the Tower back when he was…not dead. Light blue walls, black leather sofa, a cream-white kitchen. The bedroom that he and Natasha shared was painted a darker shade of blue, with red picture frames and dressers.

Steve simply stood in the room, taking in the sight of it. It had been years since he set foot in the room. He couldn't bring himself to do it after she passed. All of the memories they had shared in the small space seemed to choke him every single time he stepped out of the elevator.

This time, however, the air was light. It did not weigh on his shoulders like a boulder, and his head was not screaming from the dozens of memories repeating over and over in his mind. No. It was silent.

Which was just as eerie. There had always been some amount of noise on their floor. Something, to disturb the silence.

Then there was something. A small, light sound, like the padding of hurried feet.

All at once, arms were flung around his frame as a body collided with his. Smaller and lighter than the rest of his teammates downstairs. Steve had no trouble picking her up and twirling her around as his arms went around her back.

Her red hair stopped spinning as he placed her back down, gazing into her curious green eyes.

The eyes that had once been so still, so lifeless. Blank-

"Oh God, how I missed you," she whispered, pressing a kiss to Steve's lips, which he returned. Her eyes were not blank. They were full of life-whatever kind of life this was.

"I thought I lost you, forever."

"I said that I would wait. I never break promises," she smirked. "Even if they are to soldier boys who have a tendency to die whenever I'm not around."

She was here, real, in front of him. And yet he couldn't get the image of her bleeding out, turning the snow beneath her red. The way her blood had not washed off of his hands.

"Steve, what is it?" she asked, cupping his face in her palm.

"I could have done something. I could-could have-"

"Rogers, shut the hell up." He immediately stopped talking and raised his head to look at her. "You did your best, and you know that. None of it was your fault. Everyone will tell you that. You were the last of us, and to be honest, I have no idea how you did it. We could not have asked for a better man to lead us. Don't go spouting apologies, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered in reply. "But I lost you." _I was alone again_.

"I'm here now. We're all here now."

"Why weren't you with the others?" he asked, remembering how Clint had only seen her once throughout the years.

"I had to wait for you. I had no idea where you would pop up, so I went to the first place that I could think about."

"You always were the smart one," he joked.

"You would have done the same thing in my position," Natasha replied. She pulled his hand, dragging him onto the couch, where they ended up curled next to each other. "How did you do it?"

"Hm?" he asked

"Go on without all of us. You lost everyone twice. How the hell were you able to pick yourself back up?"

"I thought of you guys. You never gave up in the face of danger. Why could I in the face of lonliness? It was hell, I'll give you that. But I fought to keep your memory alive. I fought to have a purpose again."

Natasha sighed, her warm breath touching his neck from where her head lay on his shoulder. "That's the captain I've been missing," she whispered. "I don't want to live in a world without you."

"That will never happen. We will always be together, as cliche as that may sound."

"I'd rather have cliche than nothing at all," the spy muttered, sinking down more into his shoulder. His arm went around her small frame and held her close. Her body was warm and alive beside his. It was easy to forget that they had both left the material world behind. This one seemed so real. He could picture being with his team for the rest of whatever kind of time he had. Talking to Bucky and Peggy. Never being alone again. An afterlife filled with warmth and friendship. The exact opposite of what he expected to get when he crashed the plane.

"So would I," Steve replied softly as he began to doze off, eyelids growing heavy. Would this simply be sleep? Or would he finally reach whatever that final horizon was?

Only one way to find out. He slightly tightened his grip on Natasha, determined to never let her go again. If this was the end of the line, then he would be fine with it. He could hope for a few days or more with his team, but at the moment, he was content just sleeping next to the one he loved.

So, for the first time since the war had started back in the forties, Steve Rogers slept without nightmares. He had a quiet, blank mind, and a small smile that stretched across his face. Natasha wore a similar expression on her features.

One of peace and quiet. Free of worry, of skeletons in the closet, of the red blood that had haunted both of them for so many years. Free...

They had both never been more free, or more secure, than in each others arms.


End file.
